（ between one heartbeat and the next, they're in an illusory world. cy is outside a door, looking down at his hand where he's lifted it to push the door aside, and he completes the natural motion without hesitating, carrying himself into the scene.
he's struck at once how much care and attention sasuke has built into it — the things that sasuke knows are dear to him — the art, the instruments, the books that add the faint scent of lignin to the room. he fills in some gaps he suspects were intentionally blank — the colour scheme of the room, the slow burn of candles. there's a desk in one corner, with a hand-drawn map that paints a picture of the coast beyond that ribbon of ocean visible from the balcony. the room isn't ostentatious, but it's clearly lived-in — a place where one might retreat to after a tiring day.
there's a moment where the fabric of the illusion shivers, and cy lifts a hand to wipe blood from one cheek — not his, naturally, but the suggestion of some distant violence done. dull grit covers his clothes and is a dust in his hair: a return from a conquering campaign.
cy closes the door behind him with a snap, and then takes his boots off, pads across the space and into sasuke's without comment. one hand slips into his hair, forcing him upwards into a kiss while the other curves possessively against his belly, trailing along the delicate chain that even now is leashed to piercings as much for pain as pleasure — the stab of lust that seizes him seeing sasuke in this state is not remotely feigned, he can feel the chafe of his cock beneath his clothing as the thrill of the scene — the sight — sink in. ）
I should have brought you with me, （ is the murmur that follows the seizure of a kiss, ） I could have used the release. （ his hand dips lower, following the chain to its anchorpoint, the piercing nestled beneath the nerves of the clitoris. sasuke tries, reflexively, to close his legs to the intrusion, and cy's correction is the patient disappointment of a teacher when he says: ） Spread your legs.
（ he doesn't know what the timeline was that sasuke had intended, how long now that he's been a slave to this life — changed in body, lashed to the wheel of a warlord's twisted desires. long enough for a child to take root. long enough that perhaps some of the threats cy made during their last scene, for all its intensity, have come to pass. perhaps the boy has come to the idea of obedience, or perhaps he still resists — he'll let sasuke make that choice for himself. ）
they never shut the fuck up. and never stop fucking. we've created a monster.
he's struck at once how much care and attention sasuke has built into it — the things that sasuke knows are dear to him — the art, the instruments, the books that add the faint scent of lignin to the room. he fills in some gaps he suspects were intentionally blank — the colour scheme of the room, the slow burn of candles. there's a desk in one corner, with a hand-drawn map that paints a picture of the coast beyond that ribbon of ocean visible from the balcony. the room isn't ostentatious, but it's clearly lived-in — a place where one might retreat to after a tiring day.
there's a moment where the fabric of the illusion shivers, and cy lifts a hand to wipe blood from one cheek — not his, naturally, but the suggestion of some distant violence done. dull grit covers his clothes and is a dust in his hair: a return from a conquering campaign.
cy closes the door behind him with a snap, and then takes his boots off, pads across the space and into sasuke's without comment. one hand slips into his hair, forcing him upwards into a kiss while the other curves possessively against his belly, trailing along the delicate chain that even now is leashed to piercings as much for pain as pleasure — the stab of lust that seizes him seeing sasuke in this state is not remotely feigned, he can feel the chafe of his cock beneath his clothing as the thrill of the scene — the sight — sink in. ）
I should have brought you with me, （ is the murmur that follows the seizure of a kiss, ） I could have used the release. （ his hand dips lower, following the chain to its anchorpoint, the piercing nestled beneath the nerves of the clitoris. sasuke tries, reflexively, to close his legs to the intrusion, and cy's correction is the patient disappointment of a teacher when he says: ） Spread your legs.
（ he doesn't know what the timeline was that sasuke had intended, how long now that he's been a slave to this life — changed in body, lashed to the wheel of a warlord's twisted desires. long enough for a child to take root. long enough that perhaps some of the threats cy made during their last scene, for all its intensity, have come to pass. perhaps the boy has come to the idea of obedience, or perhaps he still resists — he'll let sasuke make that choice for himself. ）